


I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!

by BookWorm_22



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, The Tudors (TV), Wolf Hall Series - Hilary Mantel
Genre: Thomas Cromwell Is Not Executed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookWorm_22/pseuds/BookWorm_22
Summary: On 28th July 1540, Thomas Cromwell, King Henry VIII's great Councillor, was executed on Tower Hill for treason and heresy after falling from the King's favour over the Anne of Cleves marriage.On 28th July 1540, Thomas Cromwell places his head on the block but the axe doesn't fall. He survives only to be called back to Court when the King has his next crisis.
Relationships: Henry VIII of England & Thomas Cromwell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!

**Author's Note:**

> I finished 'The Mirror & the Light' by Hilary Mantel three days before the anniversary of Thomas Cromwell's death so I naturally spent the day before the anniversary re-writing a little bit of history giving one of the most fascinating Tudor personages a better ending.

“Read it to me again. Not all of it, just the final part.” The King said, his back to the reader as he faced out of the window over his gardens.

“Written at the Tower this Wednesday, the last of June, with the heavy heart and trembling hand of your Highness’s most heavy and most miserable prisoner and slave, Thomas Cromwell. Most gracious Prince, I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!”

“Cromwell has never begged for anything in his life and yet, as with everything he does, he is a master of it.” The King turned to stare at Master Secretary Sir Rafe Sadler who was holding the letter from the disgraced and imprisoned Thomas Cromwell Earl of Essex. Sadler’s face was carefully blank in an attempt disguise his feelings about his mentor. “You do not plead for him?”

“Lord Essex taught me how to survive.”

“Leave the letter.” The King turned back to the window, ignoring Sadler as he bowed and left. “I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy!”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

Thomas Cromwell formally Earl of Essex, Lord Great Chamberlain, Lord Privy Seal etc. stared at the locked door waiting for it to open and for him to be conveyed to his death. He was fifty-five and had risen from a poor Putney boy to the greatest of King Henry’s Councillors. Yet now he was staring at his death. The Act of Attainder against him had called him almost every slur that could be thought of and accused him of anything able to be levied against him. It had removed from him all his lands and titles and so stopped his son Gregory from inheriting – Gregory who was married to the aunt of the Prince of Wales. He did not care for himself but for his son and grandsons, for his nephew Richard, for his protégé Rafe and all others who had relied upon him it was a bitter pill to swallow.

The door swung open and Sir William Kingston Constable of the Tower and one of the Privy Councillors he had so recently sat with entered.

“Cromwell.” Kingston greeted, his hat in his hands and a sorry expression on his face.

“Kingston. Shall we proceed.” He stood and straightened his robe.

A solemn procession wound its way from the Bell Tower through the Tower and towards the scaffold erected on Tower Hill surrounded by what seemed like most of London and over one hundred guards but he did not know whether they were to stop the crowd rebelling or stop them killing him themselves. He supposed it did not matter and turned his mind to more pertinent matters. 

He approached the steps to the scaffold and started mounting them, his joints protesting after his confinement, until he reached the top and surveyed the crowd below him. The executioner came up to him and knelt, asking for his forgiveness which he freely gave, passing the pouch of money over that Kingston had previously given him for this exact purpose.

“Do it well.” He murmured, taking his last view of the world, thankful that it was of London’s environs despite it being the other side from where he had been born.  
A commotion started to his side but he ignored it, intent on maintaining his dignity at his end.

He knelt and studied the block as he did so.

“My lord.” Kingston’s voice from behind him said. “My lord.”

He ignored him. His end was nigh.

“My lord, you have a pardon.”

He cracked his neck as he turned his face to look at Kingston in disbelief. His brain stopped functioning at this new information.

“What?” He whispered hoarsely. “That is impossible.”

“No my lord.” Kingston said gently, handing him a sheet signed by the King. “The King has pardoned you. Come, my lord, off the scaffold.”

He stood, bewildered, and allowed himself to be led off the scaffold and back into the precincts of the Tower. Kingston led him to the Queen’s House and poured him some wine.

“How? His Majesty refused to pardon Queen Anne. He has never pardoned someone on the scaffold. Why?”

“I do not know Cromwell. But you are pardoned at His Majesty’s pleasure.” Kingston sat himself and took a long draw of the wine before continuing. “I am commanded to see you removed from the Tower by supper tonight. I can give you some horses and a few guards but…”

“Where am I to go? Call-Me is at Austin Friars. Mortlake has been gone these past months. I cannot go to Rafe’s Hackney house for I cannot bring him into question. All my properties have been taken by the Attainder with all my money so I cannot even pay for lodgings somewhere. Neither can I ask anyone to take me in for they would not.”

“Can you not go to your son?”

“All his houses were in my name.” He paused, shuffling through the various properties he had owned for something pulled at his memory. “Oakham. I made Oakham out to Gregory and Elizabeth for their wedding.”

Kingston stood and held his hand out to him. He took it and shook it firmly.

“I wish you health Cromwell.”

“And you Kingston.”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

He was on the road to Oakham, Rutland for four days, longer than it should have taken however he was an old stout man wearied by ten years of service to the King and six weeks of imprisonment. Oakham Castle was small and the Great Hall of which was over three hundred years old. He had bought it for its proximity to Launde Abbey which he had been converting to the family seat – and which was now lost to him – but had never used the castle. Gregory had been at Launde when he had been arrested and so been forced to vacate it in favour of Oakham.

“Father.” His son was waiting for him at the gatehouse, smiling broadly as he and the four guards that Kingston had leant him came over the drawbridge.

They embraced fiercely for neither had thought they would be able to do so again until they met in Heaven.

“How are you, Eliza, and the children?”

“Good. The guards were careful with us, I think that Eliza being a Seymour was the reason, and they let us take some of our property and helped to bring it here.”

“I am glad. Come, show me inside.”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

He settled uncomfortably at Oakham. He had never had the privilege of leisure as he was always fighting or working to better himself and his descendants. Now, he had nothing but leisure for, although not officially barred from Court, he knew full well that going to Court – or even to London and the Thames environs – was a death sentence. 

He continued to study his Hebrew which he had started while in the Tower and wrote on anything he could think. He started his eldest grandson Henry on his writing and Latin. He looked over Henry as well as his other grandsons, Edward and Thomas, so Gregory and Eliza could have some time alone for they did not have too many servants now. He did the accounts for Gregory and reminisced over earlier times.

Gregory and Eliza were called to Court for Christmas leaving him with the children. They left as Master and Mistress Cromwell and returned as Baron and Baroness Cromwell for the King had returned him the Earl of Essex title he had held so briefly. With that they also returned with grants for lands and properties that he had lost with the Attainder – not all of them of course but enough that they could now live comfortably. To his delight, Launde was one of them and he threw himself into continuing the building he had been forced to abandon. They moved there in August and not a moment too soon as his son’s family had grown once more with his first granddaughter Katherine.

The house of cards came tumbling down once more in the first week of November after over a year of peace and, if he was being honest, boredom. A man in the King’s livery arrived with a letter from the King addressed to ‘my lord the Earl of Essex’.

‘To my lord the Earl of Essex,  
Certain personages close to our person have had allegations against their person. As this presses upon our own person and dignity it requires a thorough investigation to clear our good friend of their accusations. We know that you are our trusty and loyal friend and councillor and most able to investigate these allegations to the full extent of your abilities. You are requested to Winchester Palace at the quickest convenience.  
Henricus Rex  
Written at our palace of Hampton Court this Tuesday, the first of October in the thirty-second year of our reign 1541.’

“Certain personages close to our person?” Gregory said as he read the letter over his shoulder. “Who do you think that is?”

“I do not know. ‘Most able to investigate these allegations’ and it being someone close to the King’s person makes me believe it may be Uncle Norfolk’s niece.”

“Uncle Norf- you mean the Queen?” Gregory was incredulous.

“She was a flighty little thing. I must leave soon to fulfil this request.”

“As long as you come back. The last time you meddled in the King’s marriage you almost lost your head.”

“I will.”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

Seventh November: He had arrived mid-morning at Winchester Palace and had been hustled off with some speed into an antechamber where he found his old friend Thomas Cranmer Archbishop of Canterbury with a delegation of Councillors, including the owner of Winchester Palace – Stephen Gardiner Bishop of Winchester – and his old adversary.

“Stephen. How nice to see you again.” He greeted Gardiner courteously. “Why are we here?”

“Cromwell. Have we found something you do not know?”

“It is something touching the Queen is it not?”

Gardiner’s face twisted at him knowing despite being exiled in the country.

“Her Majesty has been accused of having sexual relations before her marriage to His Majesty as well as engaging in sexual acts with a Gentleman of His Majesty’s Privy Chamber.” Cranmer interjected before they could start properly trading barbs.

“I knew she was flighty from before my imprisonment but this I cannot believe. Well, the Gentleman of the Privy Chamber is unexpected but, she was at Lambeth and the rumours from there were never exemplary.” He pinched his nose in exasperation. “What is it with Howard girls and His Majesty? Why am I here? Surely His Majesty has confidence in his Privy Councillors?”

“Your work on the accusations pertaining to the previous Queen Anne.” Fitz – William Fitzwilliam Earl of Southampton and Lord Privy Seal – said, refusing to look at him.

“His Majesty believes that you will be the best person to be able to come at these accusations with impartiality owing to your removal from the Court since His Majesty married the Queen.” Rafe said very diplomatically as they shared a wry smile. “I will convey you to Hampton Court after we speak with the Queen but I have here a statement from His Majesty putting you in charge of the investigation into these allegations. Welcome back my lord.”

“Do you have the written allegations? Your Grace, Rafe, Call-Me, come with me to speak with the Queen. Call-Me can be the clerk. Rafe, what time is the tide?”

“Not even two minutes and you take over.” Gardiner scoffed.

“If you have a problem with that then you can come with me when I see His Majesty and say it to him yourself.”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

“Your Majesty.” He bows low in front of the King who would have had him killed the previous year.

“Crumb!” The King pulled himself from his chair and clapped him on the back as if he had not been gone and almost executed. “You look well rested. How are Gregory and his children?” 

“Thank you Your Majesty. My grandchildren are well. Lady Cromwell is expecting again.”

“Your eldest grandson is a year younger than the Prince of Wales is he not? Have your son and my sister-in-law go to Hatfield with their children. Your grandson can be brought up with his cousin. And Lady Cromwell should be near my son to tell him of his mother.”

“Of course Your Majesty, I will send for them immediately. However, if Your Majesty allows…” He gestured to the bundle of papers within his arms and the King’s face changed from delight to thunderous hostility.

“Well? Have I taken another adulterous Howard girl as my Queen?”

“I am afraid it seems that way Your Majesty. The Queen is distraught and the Archbishop has ordered all sharp objects to be removed from her possession. She denies any precontract with Francis Dereham yet does admit to having sexual relations with him which she insists were non-consensual. I cannot say whether they were or not, nor the validity of the other allegations as I have not questioned the accusers and alleged co-conspirators myself. With your permission I will oversee interrogations of Lady Rochford, Thomas Culpeper, and Francis Dereham tomorrow.”

“Why is it that the only woman I took as a wife to not deceive me was my Jane? I want to know the truth Crumb and you are the only one I trust to get it.”

“I will see it done Your Majesty.”

“See that you do and we do not have to count this as another of your failures like Pole is.”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

Tenth November: He took himself back from the Tower to Hampton Court by barge for the third time in as many days. Three days to bring down yet another Queen. He wondered whether that would be how he was remembered – as the man who brought down all but one of King Henry’s wives. Being in the Tower again, even if it was on the other side of the door, had him thinking of his mortality. The cold winter air was seeping into his bones and causing him pain when he moved – especially in areas he had been injured in during his youth – and the exertion of going between Hampton Court and the Tower as well as overseeing the work – something which was commonplace eighteen months before – now tired him beyond belief. 

He made his way through the Presence Chamber and Privy Chamber and into the King’s Bedchamber, ignoring all the courtiers who whispered at his return, to find the King having the ulcer on his leg being cut open again. He ignored the foul stench and bowed. The King gestured to a chair which he gratefully took.

“Do you see me Crumb? I am an old man who smells of rotten flesh.”

“You are younger than me Your Majesty so I do not believe you can be called old.”

“I notice you do not mention the rotten flesh.” The King tried to laugh but only ended up coughing.

“Rotten flesh smells much worse Your Majesty. Especially in Italian summers.”

“Who was it? Francis or Charles?”

“I cannot remember, just they did not pay well.”

“Does it matter even? What have you discovered today?”

He sat back in the chair and studied the King for a second before sighing almost inaudibly.

“Lady Rochford states that she believes Culpeper knew the Queen carnally but Culpeper states only that he intended to know her corroborating the Queen’s statement. When shown her letter, he said that she thought herself in love with him. The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk denies burning any incriminating letters but I do not believe her – anyone would burn letters that may be taken out of place when a member of your family is imprisoned for treason.”

“Are you accusing your household of doing that?” The King cut in.

“I would not know. I have never received much of my correspondence back.”

Silence reigned for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. 

“The Dowager has admitted to being aware that there was illicit behaviour happening in the maid’s chamber where the Queen slept and as a consequence had the key to the chamber brought to her each evening however this was only towards the end of the Queen’s stay at Lambeth. Dereham holds out in saying only that there was a pre-contract and that he never knew the Queen while she was Queen as Culpeper ‘had succeeded him in the Queen’s affections.’ The Queen today admitted to having known Dereham carnally but insists still that it was unwanted.”

“Damn them all to Hell. Am I forever to be unlucky with the women I love?” The King slammed his hand onto the table with such force that the table moved. “Organise a trial for Dereham, Culpeper, and Lady Rochford.”

“And the Queen?”

“I will not have a woman of her morals known as Queen.”

“I will prepare an Act stripping her of her title.”

“And an Act making it treason for a person marrying the King or his successors to not disclose previous carnal activity to the monarch.”

“With respect Your Majesty, that still leaves Lady Rochford. There is no law stopping a person inciting and aiding a Queen commit adultery.”

“Then make it treason also for a person to incite another to have carnal knowledge of the Queen.”

“If I may borrow Master Secretary Sadler? I fear my eyes and my hand are not as they used to be.”

“I can spare him a day.”

“May I have two?”

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

Thirteenth November: The ‘Bill of Attainder of Mistress Katherine Howard late Queen of England and divers other persons her accomplices’ is read in Parliament. He drags himself from Hampton Court back to Westminster and walks the halls of Whitehall and Westminster for the first time since his arrest. Most of the ‘old Lords’ growl at him for returning after they had lost him but even they cannot conceal their concern as he enters using a stick and coughs repeatedly. Rafe, who is to read the Act cannot concentrate on the reading so Fitz takes it and reads it instead. 

He is pleased with it, and when he showed it to the King last night he was too. The Act attained Mistress Howard for her adultery and made it that the Act of Attainder did not need to be granted by the King in person after the entire Act had been read out – he refused to think about how the King had consented to his Act of Attainer not even eighteen months previously – as the matter was too delicate. He – and Rafe – had also written the new legislation within the Act that condemned both Mistress Howard and Lady Rochford. It was now high treason for a person who married the King to conceal their previous sexual history as well as any person with information on said person’s previous sexual history to not disclose it within twenty days of the wedding (they had added that make sure no-one else ever had any excuse so the King need not go through this situation again). In addition, a person could not incite another to have carnal knowledge of the Queen Consort or the wife of the monarch’s son (they might as well save the Prince of Wales and his future heirs the embarrassment while they were at it), or for the Queen or Princess themselves to incite someone to do so. It was watertight.

He could not face the trip back to Hampton Court that night, despite knowing the King would want to know what had happened. Instead, Rafe went with his apologies and he made his lodgings at Whitehall. Just as he had sat down to review the papers for Dereham and Culpeper’s trial the next day as well as start the basis of Lady Rochford’s own Attainder a clerk slipped in.

“The Imperial Ambassador is without.”

He sat back and hid the papers on the borrowed desk, indicating for the clerk to send Eustace Chapuys in. Chapuys had aged in the year since they had seen each other and was now using two sticks to walk with.

“Cremuel. You are back only a week but are as busy as you were before.” He remarked.

“Not as busy and yet more tired. I had gotten the feel for the life of an old country gentleman surrounded by his family.”

“Not many like us get to do that Cremuel.”

“I know that better than most. Why are you here?”

“Ah, it is this business with the Queen – ah, pardon me – with Mistress Howard. It is a memory game to know what to call your queens. Queen Katherine or Dowager Princess, Queen Anne or Lady Anne, Queen Anna or Princess Anna, Queen Catherine or Mistress Howard. It confuses a poor old Savoyard like me.”

“Nothing confuses you Chapuys. I warrant you know as much as I used to of people and politics. What is it you want to know? The information is public, why come to me?”

“Because you know all but I can see that you will not tell me.”

“I serve His Majesty and it is on his commands we know what we do.”

“You serve him even after last year?”

“I am a loyal Englishman. I owe everything I have to His Majesty and will do whatever he asks.” He broke off with a cough. Chapuys poured some wine and offered it to him but he waved it off.

“You are unwell?”

“No, simply a cough from the London air. I am not so young and have gotten used to the air of Rutland.”

“I will let you have some rest Cremuel for you work too hard.”

Chapuys rose and he waved him out, withholding another cough as he did so. He ignored it and turned back to his papers. It was only after a page entered about an hour later that he set them down and consented to bed.

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

Eighteenth November: It was early when he sat on a barge headed for Syon Abbey where Mistress Howard had been held for ten days. He had seen the Act of Attainder against Lady Rochford pass through Parliament the day before so, with all involved tried or attained, he was there with Cranmer, Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, Fitz, Call-Me, and Rafe to convey Mistress Howard to the Tower. They had chosen that day for most of the crowds would be at Tyburn for the execution of Dereham and Culpeper as it would be much simpler and quieter way to escort them.

“Six Councillors and ten guards all to escort one woman.” Rafe said as he walked next to him, occasionally steadying his arm, up the path to the Abbey. 

“Five Councillors, ten guards, and myself. I am no longer a Councillor. I sometimes still wonder how I am even alive.” He reminded Rafe.

“His Majesty had me read your last letter three times and then told me to leave it with him. You always had a way with words.”

“My words condemned me and my words saved me.”

“Lord Essex.” Cranmer called from ahead, “Would you consent to informing Mistress Howard of the events occurring?”

“Why me? Surely it should be my lord Suffolk as the highest ranking of us and President of the Council?”

“You are the one that investigated this Cromwell.” Suffolk forced out.

“For I was called out of my retirement to do so. Very well, where is Mistress Howard being kept? I do wish there are not many steps for my hip is paining me near constantly at the moment.”

Mistress Howard was sitting in an embrasure on the ground floor – which he thanked her for as he did not need to walk up the stairs - looking very young and small. Had he not investigated and heard the evidence himself, he would have been hard-pressed to believe this girl was guilty of what she had done.

“Mistress Howard.” She turned to look at him. “You are to come with us to the Tower there to be imprisoned at His Majesty’s pleasure.”

She looked bewildered but, faced by the stern faces of ten guards and six men (most of whom were of an advancing age) she simply got up and allowed them to escort her to the barge. When they got there they found another barge waiting for them with Sir Maurice Berkeley, a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and one whom he had introduced to Court some years earlier.

“Forgive me my lords, but His Majesty wishes Lord Essex’s attendance at Hampton Court along with the Master Secretary.”

“I come Berkeley.” He nodded at Cranmer, Suffolk, Fitz, and Call-Me before being steadied by Rafe as he got into the barge. “I would be content to stay in one place and not keep travelling. It is draining me a lot these past few weeks. I had quite forgotten what being in His Majesty’s service felt like at my age.”

Rafe and Berkeley spent the trip discussing the Court quietly as he rested, thankful that he was not expected to make conversation on the way to the Tower. Arriving at the water gate they trudged their way through the mud that was covering the path for it had rained heavily the night before and into the Court proper. The King was making a rare appearance in the Great Hall for luncheon and gestured for him to sit next to him.

“There is no one who could have done this with more speed or depth Crumb.” The King said as he picked apart a leg of mutton. “I need your abilities back in the Council. As my Lord Chancellor.”

“Your Majesty, I cannot possibly accept. I am a pardoned traitor and a man of low birth.”

“You are what I say you are. I need experienced and competent people.”

“I am old and weary. My hip pains me as does my heart and chest. I do not think I could exercise the office as it should be.”

“Nonsense. There is no one more capable.”

The King beckoned and Berkeley came forward holding a gold collar. The Court at the low tables quietened as they watched the King pass him the collar of esses of the Lord Chancellor. He knew it was useless to argue against the King and simply bowed his head, accepting an honour he had never thought possible to get.

“You honour me Your Majesty.” He said quietly, holding his hand to his chest in an attempt to calm the beating.

“We will have a Council meeting this afternoon and none will say a word against you.”

He attempted to think the King again but the words got stuck in his throat as a cough erupted again. The King looked concerned but he had been coughing since he arrived so they both ignored it. 

It did not stop.

His heart was beating faster and faster and he lent against the table.

“Cromwell.” He could hear the King say from his side but it was faint and sounded like it would underwater. “Get Dr Linacre.”

“Mercy.” He whispered as he slumped forward. “God have mercy.” 

\- I cry for Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! –

Thomas Cromwell 1st Earl of Essex and Lord Chancellor died of what is now suspected to be a heart attack caused by stress and overwork while dining with King Henry VIII at Hampton Court Palace on 18th November 1541 after having been granted the honour of Lord Chancellor. He has the dubious honour of holding the record for the shortest term spent as Lord Chancellor, estimated from eyewitness accounts at just two minutes. 

King Henry was heard to say later that Essex was the greatest and most able of all the many Councillors who served him over his reign. He promoted men who had some connection with Cromwell in particular his protégé Sir Rafe Sadler who became Earl of Kent in 1543 and Lord Chancellor in 1546. Sadler continued as Lord Chancellor until the death of King Edward VI in 1553 but was forced into quiet retirement during the reign of Queen Mary I. He returned as an elder statesman for Queen Elizabeth I in 1558. He died 30 March 1587 aged 79/80 having spent his last years being the jailor of Mary Queen of Scots and presiding over her trial and execution.

Cromwell’s son Gregory Cromwell 2nd Earl of Essex never attained the greatness of his father but served in the House of Lords for the remainder of his short life, as well as aiding Sadler in overseas affairs having been trained well in foreign languages. He died aged 30/31 on 4th July 1551. His wife Elizabeth Seymour Cromwell Countess of Essex was a main figure in the upbringing of her nephew King Edward VI and stayed close during his reign. She married Sir John Paulet son of the 1st Marquess of Winchester in 1554 and lived quietly until she died on 19th March 1568.

Cromwell is accredited with masterminding what is now known as the ‘Tudor Revolution’ within statecraft and politics. His notes and papers were impounded during his imprisonment in 1540 and so are preserved in the National Archives giving a comprehensive inside view of Henrician reform. His work during Katherine Howard’s fall (she and Lady Rochford were executed a week after Cromwell’s death), as well as much of his personal papers, were kept by the Essex’s until they were donated in 2005 by Robert Cromwell 21st Earl of Essex to the National Archives and instituted a new wave of interest given the new information. 

He remains one of the most important and fascinating historical figures of the Tudor era, not just because of his incredible rise, but because of his fall and close shave with the axe before his later rise and death as one of the most powerful men of England.


End file.
